Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [183]
Walker nodded. “But not a magic of the sort that devised those keys. The keys are a technology from the past, one lost since the Great Wars or perhaps even before. The magic of the castle and the jungle are Faerie-induced and have been resident since the time of the Word. The eels probably mutated after the Great Wars. Our adversary did not create them, but only identified them. What’s interesting is not that these traps were baited to test the strength and nature of our magic but that it was done without having to overcome the things that warded those islands. How did our adversary do that? Why didn’t it try to steal their magic, as well? Why did it choose to go to so much trouble to summon us instead?”
He nodded toward Big Red. “The reason I am leaving the Rovers aboard ship instead of taking them inland with the Elven Hunters is that I think our adversary might well try to steal our ship. It knows we are here, I expect, and how we arrived. It will know as well that if it steals the Jerle Shannara, we will be marooned and helpless. We can’t afford to let that happen. Who better to protect and defend our airship than the people who sailed and built her?”
Redden Alt Mer nodded slowly. “All right. Your argument is sound, Walker. But how will we fight this thing off if it comes after the ship? We won’t have any magic to use against it, only our blades. If it’s as powerful as you suggest—”
“After we go ashore tomorrow,” Walker interrupted quickly, holding up his hand to silence the other, “y°u wu‘ take the Jerle Shannara out of this bay and back down the channel toward the Squirm. Then take a bearing and fly back out over the peninsula to the coast and find the Wing Riders. When you’ve done so, bring them back to a safe haven downriver. Map your route going out so you can find your way coming back. Have the Wing Riders fly inland over this bay and the surrounding forests every day until we signal you to take us out. If you aren’t where you can be easily found, you’ll be safe enough.”
Big Red looked at his sister. Rue Meridian shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of splitting up,” he said. “I understand the reason for it, but it puts you and those with you at great risk if something goes wrong. You will be marooned if we can’t find you.”
Walker nodded. “Then we’ll have to make sure you can.”
“Or if we can’t find the Wing Riders,” Little Red added.
“The Wing Riders will find you. They will be looking for you, for the airship. Just be certain you map your route out and back carefully.”
“I’ll see that I do.” Rue Meridian held his gaze.
Bek glanced from Quentin to Ahren Elessedil to Ard Patrinell and finally to the wan, youthful face of Ryer Ord Star. There was determination and acceptance on each, but the seer’s face showed apprehension and conflict, as well. She knew something she was not telling them. Bek sensed it instinctively, as if he still held the Sword of Shannara and had brought its magic to bear, seeking out the truth, drawing back the veil of concealment the young woman held in place.
What was it she was hiding? Something of their fate? Something of what waited inland? Bek studied her surreptitiously. Had she told Walker everything? Or was she holding something back? He didn’t have any reason to ask himself that question, no cause to believe that she would conceal anything from the Druid.
But there was something in the way she distanced herself from him, from everyone...
“Let’s finish our preparations and have something to eat,” Walker said, breaking into his thoughts. “Tomorrow we set out at sunrise.”
“Good luck to you, Walker,” Rue Meridian said.
He gave her a wry smile. “Good luck to us all, Little Red.”
Then he gathered in his black robes and walked from the room.
Chapter TWENTY-NINE
Anchored well offshore and forty feet above the water, the company of the Jerle Shannara spent the night in the